


Bright Lights and Back Home

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [6]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is paranoid, and everyone knows it, aunt may is a saint, aunt may's cooking sucks, happy loves pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: When they arrived in the city, five of the cars swerved off towards Manhattan, down to the Tower that Tony had taken off the market with promises over the car speakers that they’d all see Peter soon.  He’d felt a bit embarrassed they all felt the need to promise that specifically to him, but May had merely patted his hand and smiled gently, so he thought maybe it was ok.“So I guess you’re an Avenger now,” she’d teased, reaching over to pinch his cheek.“May…”“More like a team mascot,” Mr. Stark’s voice came over the speakers.  “Happy, you remember the exit to get off?”





	Bright Lights and Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a filler shot, I had to get them back to the city. I'm kind of meh on it, but whatevs.
> 
> Back to Petey-Pie's POV. Also how annoying would Tony be if he adopted you? Very.
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

They’re going home.

Peter thought, when Happy peeled out of the compound drive, that’d he’d be less ok with it than he ended up being. May looked perfectly content beside him in the back of the Audi, and an entire convoy of cars was leaving behind them, a caravan heading back to where they’d all first fought together. Well, everyone but Clint, he had his own kids to take care of. But he’d sent him off with a wink and a “be good,” that clearly implied he had no delusions Peter would do any such thing.

When they arrived in the city, five of the cars swerved off towards Manhattan, down to the Tower that Tony had taken off the market with promises over the car speakers that they’d all see Peter soon. He’d felt a bit embarrassed they all felt the need to promise that specifically to him, but May had merely patted his hand and smiled gently, so he thought maybe it was ok.

_“So I guess you’re an Avenger now,” she’d teased, reaching over to pinch his cheek._

_“May…”_

_“More like a team mascot,” Mr. Stark’s voice came over the speakers. “Happy, you remember the exit to get off?”_

_“Yes, boss,” Happy grumbled, purposefully catching Peter’s gaze in the rearview mirror and rolling his eyes. It made Peter giggle. Happy was getting good at that._

It’s mid-afternoon by the time they arrive at the familiar apartment building, and the butterflies that had been slowly swarming Peter’s belly the closer they got disappear entirely when he sees the familiar dark green door leading to the lobby. It’s been four years since he’d been in his own home, in his own bed, eating at his own dining room table. He thinks he’s ready.

It’s a good thing there wasn’t _too_ much packed, because Happy had to park the Audi nearly a block over, and Mr. Stark another one again. Peter’s leg, which is mostly healed now after two days, is starting to ache. His arm seems pretty good, and the bruises around his eyes are mostly gone, but Mr. Stark is still insisting he take it easy. Happy told him the exact same thing, but he grumbles for the entire walk about having to carry bags for a super-kid, occasionally poking Peter in the shoulder and telling him to stop walking so slowly. Peter is going to miss having Happy around all the time, and he’s pretty sure, now, Happy is going to miss him too.

Somehow Mr. Stark and Pepper beat them into the lobby, having long ago received a set of keys for both the lobby door and the apartment from May. They arrive at the elevators with their suitcases to find a very indignant Mr. Stark and a smirking Pepper waiting for them. 

“What?” Peter has no idea what could have pissed Mr. Stark off on the walk from the car to the building lobby.

Mr. Stark simply takes a step to the side and gestures behind him while Pepper rolls her eyes in May’s direction.

“Out of _order?”_ Peter hears Happy drop his two overly-full duffle bags to the tile floor with a loud *thud* and an indignant sputter behind him. He can practically hear his eyes roll in his head.

May actually laughs. “You know it was broken when you…” she hesitates, just for a moment. “...left, baby.”

“I cannot believe the elevator is still broken,” Peter really truly can’t believe it. He looks to Mr. Stark. “Mr. Stark!”

“Don’t ‘Mr. Stark’ me,” he jams his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re Iron Man! Fix it!”

“You fix it, Baby Genius,” Mr. Stark rolls on the balls of his feet. “How’s the leg? Think you can make it up?”

“I’m not a complete invalid, Mr. Stark. It’s stairs--”

“I’m not dragging two bags full of legos and Star Wars underwear up seven flights of stairs,” Happy cuts in. “I draw the line at that kind of abuse.”

“Well, I have no problem walking up seven flights of stairs,” Pepper glares at Tony. “Come on, May. Show me the apartment before these three get in there and destroy it in five minutes.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” May shoulders her own bag and picks up one of the large duffles, narrowing her eyes at Happy. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, boys,” Pepper laughs, and she follows May around the corner to the stairs.

Mr. Stark sighs, thoroughly put out by not only the elevator but his fiancee, and looks at Peter as if this is entirely his fault. “How is this okay with building code? What if someone was in a wheelchair? Or currently has a healing leg?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I’ll be sure to call the mayor when I get a chance.”

“Seriously kid, how’s the leg?”

“A little sore and weak, but it’s not like I’m trying to climb up walls,” Peter rolls his eyes. Someday he’ll get Mr. Stark to stop babying him. “Hey, you could fly--”

“No,” Mr. Stark bluntly states almost immediately. “Back to normal, remember?”

“Normal isn’t walking up seven flights of stairs, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure it is,” he walks around to Happy and grabs one of the bags, hauling it onto his good shoulder. “C’mon. Exercise for the day.”

A good twenty minutes later, they drag themselves through the front door of the apartment. Peter’s nose immediately twitches at the heavy dust hanging in the air. Both Pepper and May are flitting around the small space, wiping tables and shaking out curtains. 

“Well, kid,” Mr. Stark drops the duffle on the floor in the entryway. He’s slightly out of breath. “Looks the same.”

“Yeah,” Peter can’t help the little thrill that fills his chest. Home. “Doesn’t smell the same.”

“Well, I’m sure your aunt has a recipe ready to go tonight that’ll help with that,” Mr. Stark smirks at him. Peter’s not dumb; he knows Mr. Stark finds it hilarious that Peter has to deal with is aunt’s terrible--if enthusiastic--cooking.

“You--”

“Oh, no,” May comes over and cuts off Peter’s retort. Damn. He was going to guilt Mr. Stark into staying for dinner in front of three people so he couldn’t say no. Mr. Stark pulls a face at him behind May’s shoulder. “Chinese take-out tonight; there’s nothing in the fridge!”

“That’s such a shame, May.”

“I know, Tony, there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal. But until I can get out shopping, take out it is!” She turns back to Pepper, who’s folding an afghan over the back of the couch. “We’ll be sure to invite you over for dinner when I get to it!”

Mr. Stark’s face immediately falls and Peter sticks his tongue out at him, holding in a snicker. He narrows his eyes as if in warning, but turns to the women in the living room. “What can I do to help, ladies?”

“Oh, nothing, Tony, we’re just getting the dust in here, then I just need to wash the bedding,” May puts her hands on her hips and looks around. Peter can tell she’s ecstatic to be back and is trying not to show it while everyone is still in the apartment. “Except maybe taking Peter’s bags into his room? I don’t want him aggravating anything!” She looks pointedly at Peter.

“Same page, May, come on Hap. Underoos,” Tony takes Peter by the shoulder and leads him down the hall to his small bedroom. The door sticks a little when he pushes it open, but then it’s there, the same as Peter had left it, comforter on the bottom bunk strewn haphazardly, calculus book open on the floor. Half a lego Star Destroyer sits in the corner, from when he and Ned were working on it the weekend before the “field trip.” MJ’s copy of _The Miner’s Canary_ is sitting on his desk. A strange sort of melancholy settles over him.

“Home sweet home, kid,” Mr. Stark claps his shoulder and drops the bag to the floor.

“Venator-class,” Happy nods to the half-built pile of legos on the floor, and drops the bag on the floor. One of the many delightful things Peter had learned in the four months at the compound was that Happy adored Star Wars, maybe more than he did. He still had his ticket stub from seeing the original as a kid. “Nice.”

“Thanks, it took us forever to find one, Ned wants to try and build a Tector-class with pieces from different sets next, since they don’t--”

“Alright, you, two, don’t start. We can’t spend the night here,” Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “Hap, give me a minute?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Happy looks at Peter. “I’m never carrying your shit again, so you know.”

“Got it, Happy.”

“See you around, kid. Try not to break my voicemail.”

“Bye, Happy.”

Tony pulls his hand from Peter’s shoulder as soon as Happy shuts the door. He heads over to the desk chair, spinning it around to sit. “He’s gonna be beside himself without you there yammering in his ear, you know.”

“I think he’ll be ok, Mr. Stark,” Peter bends to pick up the heavy math book from the floor. He’s only got a few weeks until school starts again.

“You excited to go back to school?” Peter can hear the real question sitting just behind Mr. Stark’s teeth. “What grade is it now? Seventh?”

“You know I’m not excited for school. And I’m a senior, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes and sets the book on the top bunk.

“No, you’re not,” he spins a bit in the chair, picking at something on his pant leg. 

“Yep,” Peter hauls one of the duffle bags off the floor. His arm doesn’t twinge or pull, thank God. “A senior. Just like you will be in a few years. Have you applied for your AARP membership, yet?”

“No, I’m gonna wait until you pass your driver’s test, so I have a few years.”

“Nah, Happy said he’d let me practice. You have four months, tops.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Tony dramatically presses a hand to his chest, over the arc reactor glowing under his shirt. “Happy’s EKG is gonna get worse.”

“Probably,” Peter pulls a pile of socks out of the bag. He knows Mr. Stark is stalling; Pepper had told them they had to get to the Tower fairly quickly after bringing him and May home. Peter doesn’t exactly want them to leave, but if they have to he doesn’t want to drag it out.

“Seriously, kid,” Mr. Stark stops his nervous fidgeting and folds his hands in his lap. “You excited to be back?”

“I don’t know if ‘excited’ is the way to describe it, Mr. Stark,” Peter pulls open a drawer in his small dresser and pushes the pile of socks in.

“Yeah, I don’t think so either,” Mr. Stark sighs. He reaches out and grabs Peter’s wrist as he walks back to the bed, wrapping his fingers around the metal watch and stopping him. He pulls his arm so he’s facing him; he looks tired and apprehensive. “But really. You’re ok?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter nods, not quite believing it all of a sudden. The thrill of being back is fading, now that he knows the three people he and May had depended on for support will be leaving soon. “I’m home.”

“Yeah, you are,” Mr. Stark lets go of his wrist and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s gonna be an adjustment, I’m sure, but you’ll be great, soon enough.”

Peter blinks rapidly, his eyes suddenly burning, which is ridiculous, because he’s home in his bedroom and he has absolutely cried enough in front of Mr. Stark to cover them for years this week alone. “Yeah. Just need to get used to it, again.”

“Yep,” Mr. Stark stands up from the chair. “And you _will_ call if you need anything, yes?” He reaches down and taps the watch on Peter’s wrist. “Absolutely anything?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark. I’ll probably just use my phone, though.”

“Not if you can’t handle possibly going through to voicemail,” Mr. Stark puts his hands in his pockets, rising up on his toes a bit. “I mean it, Pete.”

“I know, Mr. Stark.”

“You’d better,” he sniffs, reaching up to shove a pair of sunglasses that have materialized out of nowhere onto his face. He ruffles Peter’s hair briefly, then pulls him forward to press one of his barely-perceptible-kisses against the top of his head. “Come on,” he sniffs again, heading towards the door. “Come say good-bye to Pep. We have to get going.”

The good-byes with Pepper were an adventure, Happy’s hand on the door knob and Tony and Peter staring in awe as she and May managed to plan an entire six months of wedding errands on the walk out of the living room. By the time she’d pressed kisses to both Peter’s cheeks and his forehead, it had been nearly half-an-hour since Mr. Stark’s assurances that he’d be there if Peter needed him.

Peter wipes her lipstick off his cheek as he watches them head down the sidewalk hand-in-hand from the living room window.

“You ok, honey?” May steps up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“Yeah, May.”

“I know it’s gonna be an adjustment, baby,” she kisses his cheek, leaving more lipstick to wipe off. “But he’s thirty minutes away.” May licks her thumb and rubs at the red mark she left on his face. “And you need a shave, old man.”

“Jesus, May,” Peter laughs, trying to duck out of her reach. She follows him, squishing his cheeks. 

“And we’re gonna have to get a swear jar for here now too,” she teases, going in for another kiss. Mr. Stark told her about the one he started at the Compound, and that he was bringing it back to the Tower with him. “Those heathens did a number on you.”

“Nothing I haven’t learned from the subway.”

“Right,” she releases his cheeks, leaving him to wipe then new lipstick off on his own. “Come help me get the beds undone so I can get everything in the wash. Then I’ll order dinner while you unpack.”

“Sure thing, Aunt May,” Peter fingers the watch on his wrist as he follows her down the hall.

******

“Mr. Rogers?” Peter’s jaw drops when he opens the door.

“Steve?” May comes around the corner from the kitchen. “What are you doing here? And with our food?”

“Oh, I was in the neighborhood and saw the delivery man with your address on the bag, so I tipped him and told him I’d bring it up,” Mr. Rogers smiles and nods, as if to convince himself it was a good lie. It is not a good lie; Mr. Rogers is a worse liar than Peter is.

“Well, come on in!” Peter gapes at May as she pulls the door open wider, as if she has no idea that Mr. Rogers is clearly pulling his story out of his ass.

“Excuse me, kid,” he says cheerfully, patting Peter rather heavily on the shoulder as he steps by him in to the apartment. “So this is the Parker household.”

Peter numbly shuts the door as May scurries off behind him to follow Mr. Rogers. “Yes. It’s small, but it’s home.”

“I grew up in a small place in Brooklyn,” Mr. Rogers nods as he looks around the living room, then saunters over into the eat-in kitchen. It doesn’t escape Peter than he’s eying the windows and pathways around the small apartment. Unbelievable.

“Yep, this is where we live!” Peter rushes over, grabbing the large bag of food from Mr. Rogers. It smells amazing and his stomach rumbles. “So, thank you for bringing this, but--”

“Well, give me a tour, Peter,” Mr. Rogers smiles at him brightly, and Peter is unsure if he knows that Peter knows what he’s doing.

“Yes, sweetheart, go show Steve around,” she in turn takes the bag from Peter. “Steve, should I put a plate out for you? We ordered a few days worth, just until I can get groceries.”

“Oh, that’s--” he stops himself when he sees Peter’s very obvious glare. “That’s very nice, but just a short tour. I’m meeting Buck to trawl around Brooklyn in an hour. We’re looking for a place.”

“The trains will take you an hour to get to Brooklyn, Mr. Rogers,” Peter tries to pull his most put-out face, which obviously doesn’t work, because Mr. Rogers just laughs. He’s clearly getting a kick out of this.

“I have my bike,” he claps Peter’s shoulder again. “Show me around, kid.”

Peter internally groans, knowing he’s lost this battle of wills. “C’mon,” he mumbles, leading Mr. Rogers through the living room and down the hall.

“So this is your room,” Mr. Rogers states when they step inside the small bedroom. Peter pointedly shuts the door behind them.

“Were you really just in the neighborhood?” Peter turns around and glares at Mr. Rogers. He only laughs.

“You know, Tony was right. You do look like a cartoon baby deer.”

“Mr. Rogers.”

“I was in the neighborhood, Pete,” he reaches out and ruffles Peters hair. He takes another look around the room, and nods to himself. “Well, you know the traffic wasn’t great today; I should probably get going.”

“You really expect me to believe you were ‘just in the neighborhood,’ Mr. Rogers?”

“I was here,” he shrugs, and winks, opening the door. “Well, I’ll head on out.”

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter follows him out of the bedroom. “Please don’t tell me Mr. Stark sent you.”

“Like I said, Peter,” he puts his hand on his hip, and Peter has flashbacks to the videos Midtown used to make them watch. He’s sure he’ll still have to when school starts up again. “I was in the neighborhood. May,” he turns to her as she walks out into the small living room. “It was a pleasure, as always. You have our number, if you need it.”

“Of course, Steve. Thanks for grabbing the food. Would you like money for--”

“No need ma’am,” Mr. Rogers throws his trademark smile at her and Peter rolls his eyes. He turns to Peter. “Remember, if you need it.”

“Good luck in Brooklyn, Mr. Rogers,” Peter deadpans, hoping his annoyance is obvious.

“Thanks, baby deer. Enjoy your take-out,” and with that, Mr. Rogers is out the door.

“He’s right!” May comes over to Peter and squishes his cheeks. “You do look like a baby deer, sweetheart.”

“Maaayyy!” Peter can’t believe it. It’s only been two hours.

After a large meal of Chinese--May decided to do the shopping tomorrow, Peter inhaled a significant portion of what they ordered--and a hot shower, Peter opens the small window in the bathroom and pulls the old bottle of shaving cream from under the sink. It feels odd; going back to regular routines in the old apartment. The razor is months old and dull, and if he didn’t look absolutely ridiculous with the peach fuzz he would have skipped the ritual entirely until he had a chance to get a new one.

Very suddenly, as he’s carefully swooping the old blades around the nearly-healed cut above his lip, there’s an emptiness in his belly. The last time he did this Mr. Stark found a million reasons to march in and out of his bedroom and by the bathroom door, teasing him. And the time before that. He supposes it’s something he’ll have to get used to now; not having his mentor’s warm, sarcastic voice bark in his ear every thirty seconds.

“You know,” he jumps when May speaks behind him, nearly slicing through his cheek. If the blades had been sharper, he might have. “I kind of miss all the noise.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, swiping through the last bit of shaving cream on his chin. “But I’m sure someone else will find another reason to ‘be in the neighborhood’ soon.”

“Oh, I think it was sweet,” May picks his wet towel up from the floor and tosses it into the wicker basket by the bathroom door. “He was just checking up on you.”

“Because Mr. Stark told him to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Peter turns to look at his aunt. He missed her, so much, those years he was trapped. “Queens isn’t in the neighborhood of Brooklyn.”

“No,” she comes over, wraps an arm around his t-shirt clad shoulders. “But you have an entire team of superheroes who worry about you. That’s gotta be a good feeling.”

“They’ve got nothing on you, May,” Peter leans into her, savoring the sweet scent of her shampoo and the fabric softener that clings to her pajamas. She’s one of two smells that makes him feel completely safe, and home. The other is overly expensive cologne and motor oil, and it’s across the city in a looming tower in Manhattan.

“Don’t forget it, Spiderman,” May kisses his cheek. “Go the bed, sweetheart. It’s been a big day. Rest that leg.”

“I will, May.”

“And shut the window. I really need to talk to the super about fixing the fan in here.”

“You’ve been saying that since I was ten, May.”

“And now I’m going to finally do it,” she smiles gently and ruffles his hair. Maybe when Peter turns eighteen everyone will finally stop touching his hair. “Go to bed, Spiderman. I’m down the hall if you need anything.”

“Night, May,” Peter calls as she leaves him in the bathroom. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby!”

Peter wipes the last bits of shaving cream off his face and turns to the small window he opened to let the steam out. A just as he’s about the grab the latch, a bright flash darts across the sky. It isn’t a plane; he’s seen plenty of those, lazily drifting across the sky amidst the lights of the city. It’s also silent, which would have been odd even before the spider bite, and it set off the familiar tingle down the back of his neck. He flips the toilet lid down and stands on it, peering out the window, then gingerly crawls onto the wall to get a better angle, ignoring the burn in his leg with the strain. 

At first, nothing looks amiss, just the buzzing neon lights of the bodega on the corner and the tattoo parlor across the way. Then he sees it, a burst of long red hair flipping around the side of the building.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Peter murmurs to himself, dropping gently to the floor. He scurries quickly through the apartment, checking corners and under furniture for any devices or maybe even an ant. Who knows what Mr. Stark talked Happy, or even Pepper, or _even May_ , into putting in the small space. It’d be just like him, and them. 

Peter finds nothing, though, and he flicks off the bathroom light and goes into his room. Even with the lights off it’s so much brighter than the compound. Happy had ended up buying him an Iron Man night-light as a joke one day after he’d casually mentioned it, but Mr. Stark had smiled so approvingly as Peter had reverently plugged it in, and bought him a second one to bring back to the city. He won’t need it though; the light through the window is more than enough.

He crawls into the bed, the mattress not quite as nice as his room at the Compound but the small space much more comforting, and settles his head on the familiar pillow. It’s flat and a little lumpy, but it’s familiar and it smells like home, and Peter can feel himself starting to fall away easily until a loud beep sounds beside his head. On the other side of the wall.

He’s out of his bed in an instant, hauling himself through the open window--the air conditioning hasn’t quite filled the apartment yet--and onto the fire escape. HIs leg gives out a little when he lands on the creaking metal, but he can’t be bothered with it because sticking out of the brick is a metal shaft, a red light blinking at the end of it. He doesn’t stop to think before reaching out and pulling on it, the red light dying with an electronic whine as the shaft snaps. 

“What the hell.” Mr. Barton is supposed to be on his farm, with his kids.

Peter turns to go back through the window, arrow-thing still in hand, and sure enough, there’s another flash of red around the corner. A flush of shame and not-quite-anger flairs in his chest. Peter throws himself back through the window and slams it shut, not caring one bit about the lack of air conditioning.

He knows Mr. Stark is worried. He knows Mr. Rodgers and Pepper and Ms. Romanoff and even Mr. Barnes are worried. He knows May was hesitant to come home even if she was insistent it was something they had to do. But if everyone was that worried, if everyone felt like they had to watch over him in his home, then what were they doing here?

And why didn’t Mr. Stark just say something, instead of insisting they had to go back to everything? They could have gone slowly, staying at the Tower, then coming here. He knows May and Pepper even discussed it. And even so, he’s still Spiderman. He’s come through worse than whatever Queens can throw at him. They don’t need to bother wasting their time, especially while they’re still trying to heal.

Peter throws himself on his bed and picks up his phone. He could hit the button, but it feels wrong for something like this. And he knows if he just calls him he’ll lose his nerve and appear more anxious than he is, which even he has to admit, is more and more every minute.

Before he loses his nerve, Peter hastily types a message.

_did you tell the avengers to be weird_

The response is immediate, which Peter was not expecting. It soothes a bit of the tension his shoulders. At least he knows it _was_ Mr. Stark now. He was probably waiting for him to notice. Another test?

IronDadisIronDone: _I’m sorry?_

_did you tell the avengers to come here and be weird?_

IronDadisIronDone: _Why are you awake, kid? Everything ok?_

_youre not answering my question :)_

IronDadisIronDone: _You didn’t answer mine smiley face_

_seriously mr stark. Why is there an arrow in the building wall?_

IronDadisIronDone: _OK, I definitely didn’t send him_.

Peter feels that strange combination of warmth that someone like Mr. Stark really cares about him overshadow the embarrassed indignation over the fact that he continuously treats him like a fourteen-year-old. A bit. 

_how old do I have to be before you stop spying on me?_

IronDadisIronDone: _Not spying. Checking._

_im fine mr stark!_

IronDadisIronDone: _you were worried._

_so were you!_

IronDadisIronDone: _We all were, bud. They’d probably have all done it on their own if I didn’t ask._

_well call them off. Its weird having black widow stalking outside the apartment._

IronDadisIronDone: _Don’t know if i can do anything about the bird_

_I personally think he’s the least obnoxious one of you all believe it or not_

IronDadisIronDone: _Don't ever say that again_

_youre not coming, are you?_

IronDadisIronDone: _Do you want me to?_

_you dont hhave to mr stark._

IronDadisIronDone: _Good, because it’s nice to not have any shitty little cockblockers around to worry about._

_gross mr stark_

IronDadisIronDone: _Whatever, you SLC. How’s the leg?_

Peter feels a twinge now that he’s been reminded of it. 

_fine until you mentioned it._

IronDadisIronDone: _Keep off it a few more days. No Spidermanning._

_i will_

IronDadisIronDone: _In fact, why don’t you hold off on Spidermanning for a bit. Just until you’re settled._

_i promise nothing mr stark_

IronDadisIronDone: _I’ll know if you do._

_i know because you love SPYING ON ME_

Peter glances at the clock on his phone screen; 2:30am. They’ve been texting back and forth for nearly half-an-hour, certainly not a record overall, but definitely a record for the middle of the night. And Mr. Stark had responded almost immediately, a definite rarity _before_ unless he was in the suit and obviously in trouble.

_mr stark are you ok?_

IronDadisIronDone: _Sure thing, kiddo._

_are you sure? you can come over if you want. just be quiet may is asleep._

IronDadisIronDone: _I’m alright, Pete._

IronDadisIronDone: _Unless you want me to come over._

_im ok mr stark_

IronDadisIronDone: _Then try and get some sleep. I’ll call the team off._

_thanks mr stark._

_maybe you can come over for dinner. may is going shopping tomorrow and said she was making cauliflower crust pizza. whatever that is_

IronDadisIronDone: _Sounds like a plan. I’ll order the pizza we’ll actually eat._

IronDadisIronDone: _And close the bathroom window._

_OMG I KNEW you put cameras in here_

IronDadisIronDone: _NO. Nat told me it’s open._

_its fine mr stark_

IronDadisIronDone: _i’ll leave that to your aunt, then._

IronDadisIronDone: _Go to sleep. Good night, Peter._

_night mr stark_

Peter puts his phone under his pillow and crawls over to the window. A black cat has found its way onto the fire escape and is sitting in the corner, watching the city lights flicker. Down the street he sees a small, shadowy figure depart.

Peter grabs the pillow from the head of the bed and settles it at the foot, unsure if he’ll fall asleep anytime soon now, or if he even wants to anymore. It feels like forever since he’s been in his borough--literally, years--and sure enough it’s the same as it ever was, bright and loud and full of life, even in the dead of night. Even with wayward Avengers lurking outside.

Peter positions the pillow, angling so he can look out the small window. He hears a soft *clang* and sees that the cat is now gone. 

He made it through the first day back to normal. It wasn’t so bad, but a part of him wonders (and maybe hopes) if he’ll hear the thrusters go by sometime before morning.

********

Tony feels Pepper shift in the bed beside him. She rolls over and places a gentle hand on his bicep.

“Everything alright, honey?” Her voice is sleep-scratchy and soft.

“Yeah,” Tony clears his throat and closes the holoscreen on his phone. “Better than I was expecting.”

“You didn’t send them all over there, did you?” Pepper hooks her chin over his shoulder, reaching over to stroke his left hand, which is resting on his belly and still wrapped in a soft brace at night.

“Not all of them.”

“Tony.”

“Well, he figured it out and texted me,” Tony sighs and tosses his phone on the nightstand. “I called them off.”

“He’ll call if he needs to,” Pepper settles into his side and yawns.

“He’d better.”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course. But we’re going over there for pizza tomorrow.”

“So you’re going to make it less than twenty-four hours, huh?” Pepper teases, gently kissing the side of his chin.

“Ok, _he_ invited _me_ ,” Tony protests, but he knows she’s right. He would have asked if Peter hadn’t. Frankly, he’s not sure if this is better or worse than he expected. But at least he knows Peter didn’t slip and kill himself in the bathtub. After what happened two days ago, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

“Right,” Pepper huffs a small laugh. “I’m going back to sleep now. If you need to fly over there, don’t wake me up.”

“I’m not going to fly over there, Pep.”

“Ok, honey.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If Tony ever saw Peter's phone name for him Peter would DIEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Just stop living.


End file.
